


Mindset Manipulation

by Kohakuhime



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Friends vs Friends, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mind Control, Post-Series, also watch out for Valon's crass language, my plot bunnies are satisfied and meanwhile i'm left with too many feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-11-08 00:56:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20826710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kohakuhime/pseuds/Kohakuhime
Summary: Requested by FrazzledRose, set post series and separate from the "Come Together" timeline. Two friends against one, and the third hates his odds. "You wouldn't believe the night we've had."Please do not repost to other sites or apps without express permission.





	Mindset Manipulation

It's funny how the most innocuous of things can lead up to having one of the worst days of your life. Hindsight really is twenty-twenty—and Valon _hates_ that phrase right now because dammit, this is _not_ how his day is supposed to go. If he had even an inkling of what was going to happen, he'd have just stayed in bed!

It's a commercial that's the start of his troubles. Some stupid commercial about some two-bit hypnotist coming to town. "The Great Zorbini"—the television proclaims the name proudly.

Maybe if they'd just changed the channel, this wouldn't be happening now. But they don't. That's how all three of them spot the uncomfortably familiar blue-green stone in the Great Zorbini's necklace.

Suddenly it's no longer a question or a choice. They _have_ to go.

And they do. They go that very night after forming a hastily thought out plan. Valon's used to winging things, but he knows there's a huge risk to what they're doing.

There are also a lot of unknowns involved this time, too many for even Valon's liking. They don't have as many resources anymore. Paradius isn't there to hide them, should the police get involved. They don't know how some circus reject ended up with an Orichalcos stone, especially since Dartz is gone and the Orichalcos should have gone with him. They don't know just how much this little man knows about his prize, if he even understands the danger behind it. They don't even know how to destroy the stone.

But Raphael's determined to get it away, at the very least. If Dartz won't clean up his messes they will.

It's not a celebrity that's come to town. The community theater is a fairly small venue, and the area by the backdoors have no cameras. A quick second at the locks, and Alister's letting them inside. They wait until the last show is done, and hardly anyone is left when they sneak into the empty backstage area of the entertainment hall.

The initial plan is to sneak into the dressing room, distract Zorbini by asking for autographs, and swap the pendant out for a harmless, near identical medallion in the distraction. It's surprising and troubling that Alister has replica Orichalcos pendants, but then again it's _Alister_ they're talking about.

They reach the dressing room, Raphael knocks and opens the door, and everything promptly goes to Hell in a handbasket.

This assumed innocent civilian is not so innocent. He's been robbing people during his performances—the evidence is sitting on the dressing room table, the jewelry and cash spilling out of a carpetbag. Typical cartoon villain cliché, and it's right there in front of them.

Needless to say, the hypnotist is _not_ happy about having witnesses.

They don't even get to explain their cover story. The thin and balding man with the goatee snarls, and his hands shoot for the pendant.

It's his height that saves him. Valon is shorter than Raphael and Alister, he's not fully in the room, and he is behind them when the flash of blinding light flares around them. Yeah, he's caught off guard, but he's not harmed.

Valon tries to shove past his friends to get at the thin little man when he notices just how unnaturally _still_ Raphael and Alister are. They aren't moving. They're just…standing in place, eerily silent. Their features are blank and too still. They don't react to him shaking their shoulders, nor do they respond to his worried calls.

He processes this abrupt shift in behavior in seconds. It takes even less time to realize what it means. Even as the hypnotist gives the order Valon's already turning to run.

Fast forward to the present, and now he's locked in the damn building and his friends are trying to kill him. Valon _really_ wishes that cheap Willy Wonka knockoff would come down from the catwalk so he can force feed each and every one of the little man's teeth to him.

"Having trouble, are we?" comes the gloating call from above him. "You may as well come out. I've called the police—it's going to be my word versus yours, and I'm not the one who's trespassing."

_"Dammit," _Valon grits out under his breath.

He knows his odds right now are completely piss poor. Zorbini has a point. They _did_ sneak into the building. Right now, it's all too easy to pin the robberies on his currently controlled friends—and if Valon's caught right now, there's a potential murder they can be framed for, too.

"Just come out, kid. I promise, I'll go easy on you. I can't say your friends will do the same."

Valon is brash, and yeah, maybe he's floundering right now—but he's not stupid. The taunt is bait and he's not going to take it. At least this git doesn't seem know what his magic necklace _really is_, or what it's fully capable of. Otherwise this would be a whole different situation…not that this one is any better. Zorbini's certainly figured out how powerful his new toy is.

He's hiding for now, crammed into a dusty corner in the backstage and under a propped up vanishing trunk. Valon's trying to come up with a plan B even as he hears footsteps across the wooden stage. Those are too heavy for the hypnotist—Raphael's prowling nearby, and Valon's already seen Alister moving off the stage to search the empty auditorium.

"I don't even know what's prompted you three into seeking my company out," the voice continues. "I've never met any of you before. It's unfortunate, really it is. If you had come any other time for an autograph, this might have never happened."

_Like I want my stuff 'aving 'Zambooby' or whatever the 'ell your stupid name is scrawled across it. _

Valon's finding it harder to keep himself from loudly retorting. He needs a better plan outside of cowering under props. He sucks in a soft breath as he hears Raphael pass by, waiting tensely until he moves on. He only barely relaxes.

Options. Right. Okay—what about the police? They're on the way, he could reach out to them.

_An' tell 'em what? "Yeah, hi, my friends got hypnotized by this evil bit o' space rock we used to use to capture souls, 'n' now they're tryin' t' kill me. See, we know wha' it is since the cult we were a part of used it to regularly break the law and even almost ended the world. Oh, 'n' we broke into the buildin' we're trapped in, too."_

That option is definitely out.

Option two: catch Zorbini. Not much better of an option, though. Even if he makes past his friends, to the ladder, up to the catwalks, and catches the madly giggling little man, who's to say Valon won't end up like his two friends? And if _that _happens, what's going to keep them alive afterwards?

Option three, which is what he's currently doing: hide and hope his friends snap out of it. Raphael's the only one who's fought off the Orichalcos's influence before, and maybe—_maybe—_Raphael can do it again. Alister is a wild card, though, so who knows?

He can't stay here, though. This building isn't that big to begin with, and his hiding spot is tiny and triggering his claustrophobia. Sooner or later, his friends are going to find him, and then he's _really_ in for it.

Last option, and probably what he's going to have to do…fight.

The part of him that always itches for a brawl is raring at the chance of one. The other part of him, the one that likes his friends and _doesn't_ want to put them in the hospital, loudly protests.

It's while he's caught in this indecision that it happens.

The only warning he gets is a footstep behind him and a hand on his ankle. Valon feels his stomach drop as he's bodily hauled from his hiding spot. He grabs at anything that he can, but it fails to stop himself from being dragged out. He's pulled into the open, and in spite of his kicking he's dragged past the curtains and tossed out towards the middle of the stage.

He rolls, trying to orient even as he hears the triumphant cry somewhere above him. He's on his feet, but not fast enough. Raphael advances on him, expression stony and his gaze dark and empty.

Valon doesn't even get the chance to try and appeal—Raphael's too close. One blinding punch later and Valon's vision bursts with stars. The too-familiar taste of copper fills his mouth.

Years of instinct are what saves him. As he tumbles to the floor, his own body moves before Valon's mind even registers what's happening. He's back and away from the kick aimed at him. His vision clears and he lashes out with a foot at one of Raphael's knees, causing the older man to stagger with a grunt of pain.

He takes the opportunity to regain his feet, backing away rapidly. Then he snarls in surprise as one of his arms is pinned behind him and a forearm loops around his neck, putting him in a chokehold—Alister's on stage now too. He breaks the grip, but just barely, and he hisses as fingernails dig into the skin of his arms. Valon stumbles away, angry red lines trailing down his arms.

Raphael and Alister have moved to block the front part of the stage off—Valon can't just leap into the empty auditorium now. They silently face him, their eyes dark and cold. There's no sign that either of them are fighting the control. Really, how stupid is it that even now the Orichalcos can hold such a grip on them?

It gets even better, too. Should Valon have to retreat, he's going to be forced backstage. Judging by how quiet it is above him, and by the little giggles somewhere behind him, retreating is a _bad idea._

"You better 'ope I don' get a hold o' you!" Valon snarls, risking a glance over his shoulder. He thinks he spots a glimpse of a gaudy red sequined jacket and a madly grinning face. "_Let 'em go!"_

"The Great Zorbini does not take orders from trespassers!"

Valon has never been more irritated at a name in his entire life. "'ow about you let 'em go, b'fore I break off your arm 'n' shove it up your—"

"Now, now, watch your language. I suggest you behave. I am the one in control here. You don't want to hurt your friends, after all. One word from me, though, and _they'll_ hurt _you_. Such a terrible predicament you're in. What will you do? You can't possibly hurt them, can you?"

Valon rolls his eyes, turns to face his friends, and promptly moves for Raphael to throw the first punch.

Raphael moves, blocking it but only just. The force of the blow makes the older man stagger backwards, and Valon lands a roundhouse kick squarely against Raphael's stomach. He aims for the middle, knowing Raphael's built solidly and the kick won't hurt him as much if he lands a blow there. Raphael grunts and stumbles away, only barely standing.

He hears footsteps on the metal ladder somewhere behind him. In the wake of Valon's actions, the little coward's decided to retreat upwards again.

"You're mad!" Valon's pleased as hell to hear the amount of scandalized shock in Zorbini's voice. "He's your _friend!_ What kind of person attacks their own friend?"

"One of a kind!" Valon calls with manic cheer in his voice. He'll beg forgiveness later. Right now, he's got to survive and hold out until help comes.

Valon catches the movement from the corner of his eye. He dodges the first blow that comes at him. The other Swordsmen are practically on top of him, murderous intent in their expressions.

Valon lands another blow against Raphael, his foot connecting with Raphael's stomach again. Raphael doesn't stumble back this time, so Valon throws a punch. It lands solidly against Raphael's shoulder and he watches as the burly man almost spins away. The punch can't dislocate the shoulder, but it does temporarily stun Raphael.

But Alister is too close, and now he's in Valon's space.

Valon's always joked that Alister is a living weapon. He wants to take every one of those jokes back because _Alister has Raph's knife, when the 'ell did that 'appen—_

Time blurs. All he's focused on is trying to avoid the knife, trying to dodge the blows. At this point neither of them are really holding back. Alister's pale skin shows too many red marks that will bruise later. Valon's bleeding from multiple places. He's only lucky that none of these slashes are deep enough to be lethal, but it's debatable about whether he needs stitches.

"You don't seem to be doing so well." Zorbini's voice has a gloating lilt in it.

"_Shut up!" _Valon snarls, and he ducks another slash. He shoves Alister to the floor and looks up. "Why don't you come down 'ere and face me yourself?"

"Why do that, when I have willing puppets to do the work for me?"

Alister's back again and Valon hisses in pain as the next slash of the knife grazes his cheek. He shoves Alister backwards again. His temper flares to life and suddenly _he's had enough._

"Alister, I _will _kick your ass if you don' _stop!"_ he snarls. He snatches the wrist holding the knife and twists violently. He feels something pop in Alister's arm. "_Cut it out!"_

The knife clatters to the floor, and Alister's face spasms in pain. There's a muted whimper. Valon's panting and uncertain as he releases his friend's slender wrist. "Alister?"

Alister's locked in place. He's too still again, but this time there's something in his face that's different. A shadow, a brief flash in his glassy eyes. His face is scrunching up as he looks at Valon, and it's not just from pain.

It's a second too long that they've both frozen, and Valon's forgotten Raphael.

The punch to his gut knocks him off balance, and the backhand causes him to bite his cheek. His mouth fills with blood again. He stumbles away, but he can't avoid the sweep to his legs.

He yells as he hits the ground. Valon rolls away even as his body hits the floor, missing the stomp from Raphael's boot. Judging by the sound of the boot, it would have likely broken a bone had the blow connected. Valon regains his feet, but the motion is unsteady.

Whatever moment Alister has had, it's gone. Valon snarls again when Alister tackles him and they land in the center stage. As they roll, Valon's legs curl and he kicks into Alister's stomach, launching the other man off of the stage. A painful sounding crash follows this brief scuffle. Alister will feel that later.

He doesn't have time to celebrate this small victory. Raphael has caught up to him. Valon can't regain his feet in time and the taller man drops his full weight on top of him. Raphael's large hands wrap around his throat.

Valon knows how to fight. He can break bones with a punch if he wants to, but that's only if he can stay moving.

But he's caught now. While Valon has years of hard-earned experience on his side, Raphael is bigger and stronger than he is. Valon's never realized just how strong Raphael _truly_ is until this moment.

Valon snarls, trying to pry Raphael's fingers away from his throat. He digs his fingernails into Raphael's wrists and hands, drawing blood. He even tries to buck his hips to throw Raphael off of him.

It's like he's trying to move stone. The pressure on his throat is relentless and unpitying. He can't even shift his legs, Raphael's weight is pinning them down.

He's trapped.

His vision is going dark. He can't breathe, and his struggles are fruitless. Raphael isn't letting go, and the dark eyes boring into his show no signs of relenting or compassion.

Valon struggles anyways, because he'll be _damned_ that it's going to be some two-bit asshole with a magic pebble that finally kills him. He is _not _going to let that little man use his best friends to do his dirty work. He is _not_ going to die at his own best friend's hand! He's going to—going to— going to need _air_, he can't breathe, _I can't breathe!_

He makes a choked noise, trying to pry the hands off his neck again. His legs scrabble against the floor uselessly. One of his fists weakly beats against Raphael's chest. "Raph—Raph, let _go_—!"

His vision is darkening, spots blurring his sight and growing ever larger. He can't breathe…can't…

"Ra…"

The hands on his throat only tighten further.

Valon's lungs burn. His struggles start to slow, his ears beginning to ring. He can't even see now, eyes inadvertently closing and watering. He sucks in one last shallow and desperate breath.

The next noise that leaves Valon is something squeezed out of his throat. It's a raw and visceral sound, composed of anger, fear, pain, and deep betrayal.

"Raphael…_please!"_

The hands around his throat loosen, a tremor in them.

Valon's eyes open. His blurred vision clears, long enough for his eyes to meet Raphael's. They've lost their glassy edge, awareness creeping back into them. There's the start of confusion, then shock, and then sheer _horror_ as Raphael processes what's happening.

Valon's never seen such an expression on his older friend's face, and it's worse than a literal punch to the gut.

Raphael's eyes dart to where his hands are wrapped around Valon's throat. His breathing is harsh and frightened as his eyes meet Valon's again_._ His voice is a panicked stutter as he looks down. _"_V_-_Valon? What d-did I…?"

Raphael may be back, but the grip on his throat hasn't loosened enough to release him. There's no guarantee that this fragile moment is going to last.

So Valon acts.

Valon bucks his hips again, rolling at the same time as he violently shoves. Raphael's abruptly boneless hands slide off of him. Blessed air sweeps into Valon's lungs and he rolls onto his side, choking as he coughs.

_Hold on. Where's Raph?_

Even as dazed as he is, Valon scrambles to his feet and staggers backwards. He keeps a wary distance as his friend sits up slowly.

Raphael's staring down at his hands and trembling. He lifts his head to face Valon, hardly any color in his features. There is nothing but terror in every line of Raphael's face. He looks seconds away from hyperventilating.

Valon can't even go to comfort his older friend—someone barrels into him from behind. Alister is on him again.

Raphael's too stunned and out of it to be any help, still too shocked by his own actions. The remaining two Swordsmen tumble across the floor as they fight, Alister's hands now replacing Raphael's on his throat.

"_Oh come off it!" _Valon roars. "Alister, _stop!"_

He manages to free himself from Alister, but at a price. As he is tumbling, he goes too far. He scrapes his back and shoulders painfully on the edge of the stage, and this time it's his turn to fall from it. His head cracks painfully against the floor and it _hurts_. He's already dazed and gasping for breath, a concussion is _not _what he needs.

He hears Alister drop from the stage, footsteps approaching, and Valon scrambles backwards. He can't regain his feet, he can't think, he's tired and angry and in pain, his head _hurts—_

His vision clears, landing on something underneath one of seats.

…_Dyna Dude._

The charred action figure is Alister's most sacred possession, the one thing the man has left of both his brother and his old life. It must have fallen out of one of Alister's pockets when he was knocked off the stage.

Almost immediately, a desperate idea grips him and he already hates it. If Valon has to call that bluff—

Alister's almost on top of him again.

"Aw hell," he mutters, grabbing the toy. He's out of better ideas.

Valon whirls around just as Alister's lifting the knife again. He grips the toy between both of his hands, making sure Alister can see it.

"You take one more step 'n' I'm breakin' it, Alister!" he snaps out, a harsh pant in his voice. "I will _break this_, you know I will!"

And just like that, Alister's back. The glassy edge to Alister's eyes is slowly fading out, awareness creeping back into them. He's trembling, eyes locked not on Valon but on Dyna Dude. Like Raphael, Alister's suddenly back in the present and it's clear he's confused and lost.

There is a brief, sharp flare of hurt that sears through his thoughts at the sight. _'e didn' stop because 'e was 'urtin' you. He stopped because he's more worried 'bout a toy._

Valon doesn't have the time or the patience to unpack that thought to inspect it further. He slowly rises to his feet, never releasing Dyna Dude. The motion is awkward as he moves without his arms.

"'ey, fella," he calls softly. "Alister, look at me."

Valon's painfully aware that his other friend still has the knife. The distance between them is laughably short, and if Alister relapses Valon won't be able to get out of the way in time. Blue eyes meet glassy gray ones, and he swallows. "Alister, put the knife down. Come on now."

Valon hears someone running across the catwalk above him, figures it's probably Hypno-man doing a runner. He doesn't care. His whole body hurts and he just wants both of his friends to stop attacking him.

"Alister, you don't wanna do this," Valon continues, his voice careful and slow. "I don' wanna fight anymore. You don' want me kickin' your butt 'cross the stage again. Just put it down."

Alister's frowning now, confusion flitting across his features. "What…?"

The other man's gaze is sharpening. His eyes travel to the knife in his hand. There's a delayed pause, then he drops it as if he's holding hot metal. Alister sucks in a sharp breath, his gaze shooting to Valon. "Valon, what in—"

He freezes, and for one horrifying moment Valon thinks that Zorbini's taken him again. But then Valon realizes Alister's eyes aren't clouding over, he's looking at some of Valon's bleeding wounds.

"Valon…did I…what did I _do_?"

Valon's gut wrenches at the childlike vulnerability in Alister's voice. "Alister—"

There comes sound of a shoe slipping on metal, followed by a pitched scream and a green flash of light. The ensuing crash startles all of them.

Valon's head whips towards the stage. "_Raph!"_

Raphael is still sitting on the ground, thankfully unharmed but shaken. Valon vaults onto the stage, and he quickly assesses his older friend before moving on. He's passed Raphael and reached the area behind the curtains in seconds, and it doesn't take him long to find the source of the noise.

The Great Zorbini may be a decent hypnotist, but his depth perception is terrible. While making his grand escape down the ladder, he must have slipped on one of the rungs and fallen. He's sprawled across some of the props, his little carpet bag open and its contents spilling out.

That's not the only thing on the ground. The Orichalcos pendant—the source of all Valon's headaches—is lying innocently on the ground. The stone is cracked into multiple pieces and is scattered across the ground. It's a surprise to Valon. Were the stones always so fragile?

There _was_ that green flash earlier…was that the stone saving Zorbini's life, at the cost of cracking? Is it _that_ sentient?

Valon nudges one large shard with a cautious toe. Honestly, he's got such a massive headache and he's too punch drunk and irritable to think about a _rock_ having _intelligence._

In the distance, Valon hears police sirens. They're running out of time.

Valon turns his attention to Zorbini and spots the handkerchief in the sequined coat's breast pocket. With his friends shaken badly, it's up to Valon to clean up. He bends down to snatch the handkerchief.

"Right."

Valon quickly gathers each piece of the stone, using the handkerchief to pick up the pieces. He's taking care not to directly touch the shards with bare hands. Broken or not, he thinks he can hear faint whispers and feel the familiar siren call of the Orichalcos. He's not taking chances.

Finding the nearest bathroom backstage is easy. It's even easier to drop the shards down the toilet and flush it. If anyone wants the stone shards, they'll have to dig through raw sewage. _All the power to 'em, if they're tha' desperate._

When he comes back, Alister's on stage and checking on a still frozen Raphael. Both of them look up at Valon's approach, and Valon hates the look on their faces.

It's Raphael who tries to speak first, a tremor in his voice. "Valon, are you—?"

"'m fine. Alister, the fake rock," he says brusquely, not entirely making eye contact with his friends.

He doesn't need to look up to see the flinch from both of the older men. Alister tries to speak next. "Valon—"

"The cops are comin'. Alister, put the rock in," Valon repeats, his voice sharp and angry. He tosses the empty medallion frame to the ground. It skitters and stops just shy of Alister's feet. "I don' wanna talk about it right now, all right? We gotta do wha' we came here to do."

Alister's hands are shaking as he slowly pulls out the fake Orichalcos stone from his pocket. He tries to set the stone, but he's leaving finger prints on the back of the stone and his hands are trembling too much. Valon is short on patience and snatches both of them away from Alister.

"I'll do it, fella. Just relax a minute," he says, beginning to tinker with the medallion.

"Valon, you have to—"

"I got it."

Raphael's hand rises briefly, and the movement causes a whole-body flinch from Valon. Raphael does not move further, but his hand hovers awkwardly as he watches Valon try to force the stone into place. "D-Do you need help?"

"I said I got it," Valon snaps, turning his back on them. Raphael's hand quietly lowers. "Let me do it, yeah?"

Neither of his friends say anything after that.

The fake stone's maybe a bit too big, but Valon still can force it into the medallion. He wipes the back of the stone clean of fingerprints, then puts the two pieces on the floor and leans his body weight over it. The stone snaps into place.

Valon uses the handkerchief he found to wipe the prints off both the medallion and the front of the stone's surface. He keeps it in the handkerchief and drops the pendant back where he found it. After a split second, he pockets the handkerchief—no telling what the police can find on it if he leaves it.

He's made his way back to his friends and is about to check on them when he sees the flashing lights and hears doors opening. He waltzes to the edge of the stage and sinks, his legs dangling off the edge as he sits.

"You fellas won' believe the night we've 'ad," he says as the first officers enter the theater.

* * *

Valon's the only one who can provide the cover story. Neither of his friends remember what happened, and they're too badly shaken and out of it to be of much help.

The story he tells the cops is the one that's already been decided on: Valon's a fan, he just wanted an autograph and had snuck in, his friends had tried to stop him, and then they had found Zorbini with his bag. The rest of the story _is _the truth, even as much as Valon knows how preposterous it sounds.

But the police seem to take the story at face value. Valon knows how to round his baby blue eyes in_ just_ the right way, and he doesn't have to necessarily fake just how shaken up and upset he is. Coupled with his injuries and the sheer luck that one of the officers had been at Zorbini's show, and they're in the clear.

He emphasizes more than once that he's not going to push charges against his friends, and the cops don't push him either. As it turns out, they're more interested in Zorbini and his carpet bag of stolen goods. It's obvious not one of the former Swordsmen touched Zorbini, and with the loot in hand it makes it harder for Zorbini to appeal.

Valon has to do his damndest not to bark in laughter when Zorbini tries to use his fake medallion on the police and nothing happens. The look of flabbergasted shock on his face almost makes this night worthwhile. When Zorbini is being led out, Valon waits until the cops aren't looking before pleasantly flipping him the bird.

As time passes and the stories come out, Valon finds himself getting antsy and nervous. It's not entirely because that he's worried the cover story won't hold up. He's tired, he's irritable, his whole body is thrumming in pain, and he's now standing next to Raphael and Alister. He's unnerved by their presences, as much as he hates to admit it. He just wants to go home.

Raphael and Alister are starting to get over the shock, though they're a long way from being okay. They're feigning calm right now, but they're scarily good at putting on masks when they need to. Someone's going to have to take the lead right now, and neither of his older friends can.

Valon sighs and bites the bullet. He looks for a cop that looks important and walks up to him. "Look, do we need t' come down with you lot t' the station, or can we go?" he asks brusquely.

The officer shakes his head. "You're free to go. You three stay in town, though, just in case we need to ask any more questions. Do you need a doctor?" he asks, noticing the way Valon's limping.

"Nope. We'll manage." Valon turns to his friends and taps their shoulders as he passes. "C'mon."

He's booking it for the nearest door seconds after speaking. He ignores the calls after him from his friends. He's the first one on his motorcycle and out of the parking lot. Some small part of him worries if Raphael and Alister can even drive their motorcycles right now. He shakes it off—they'll be fine, he trusts they'll be fine. If not, they'll call a cab.

Valon makes it back first, and he moves quickly. He's off the bike and in the house in seconds. He beelines for the kitchen and pilfers all the gel ice packs in the freezer. Ignoring the freeze-burn stinging his arms and hands, he goes upstairs and drops the packs on the bed. His next stop is the bathroom to grab the first aid kit.

As he comes out of the bathroom he hears two other motorcycles pull up to the house. But he doesn't wait for them. He's already in his room and the door is locked when they come in.

He doesn't know who installed the mirror on the back of his bedroom door. It was something that had been there when they had first moved in, and he's never been happier to have it. It's hard enough to tend to his aching body on his own.

His movements are cautious as he eases his shirt off, hissing as the fabric catches the knife slashes. He grimaces at the reflection as he catches sight of the forming bruises on his body and face. Nothing's broken, but he's sore and tired and cranky. He's going to feel _everything_ in the morning.

"Shoulda grabbed Tylenol," he mutters. He drops himself onto the bed unceremoniously, then reaches for the first aid kit. He's fine without it, and if not he'll just go get some.

Valon decides to work on the bleeding scratches left by Alister's fingernails first. The alcohol wipes sting and draw out an extended hiss as he clears the blood away. Those are taken care of quickly, and Valon moves onto the more serious slashes.

He's about halfway through cleaning and bandaging the knife wounds when the knock at his door comes. He makes no move to answer it, eyeing the haphazardly wrapped bandages around his arm instead. He's going to have to rewrap these, he's never been any good at—

"Valon?" Raphael's voice is soft and uncertain.

Valon glances at the door. He remains where he is on the bed. "'M fine," he responds, but the reply is curt and tired. "It's just a few scrapes. I don' need help. Go away, Raph."

There's a long pause, and Valon eyes the shadow under the doorframe warily. He feels relieved when Raphael finally moves away, only for guilt to replace it. It's not Raphael's fault for what happened tonight. Valon's _go away_ probably didn't make Raphael feel any better.

Sometime later, there's another shadow at the door and Valon watches this one too. It's not Raphael, it's Alister. He knows because there's no call or knock at the door to announce his presence.

There isn't one, either. After a long moment, this shadow moves away too. Valon hears Alister's bedroom door close.

Valon's fists clench and he glowers at the open first aid kit.

This is stupid. This. Is. _STUPID. _He's in here cowering like a child, and it's all because some nameless nobody decided to play with evil magic rocks.

His caution is justified, he tells himself. For all Valon knows, his friends could relapse. Raphael can possibly be reasoned with. Alister is debatable. Valon couldn't even reach Alister by pleading with him—he had to get to threaten to break a damn _toy_ to break through to him. If Dyna Dude isn't around, Valon's out of luck.

The earlier hurt he felt earlier rises and crests. He could stomach this situation if Gurimo or Dartz had been behind this. Those two know how to hurt them, know their weaknesses and know how to turn them against each other.

But no—no, it's some nameless nobody who's done all of this. For all that they've been through…is it…is it really so easy to tear them apart? Valon's never had a real family. Raphael and Alister are the closest thing he has to one, and the idea that he could end up alone again…

Valon flops onto the mattress, staring up at the ceiling.

Maybe...maybe it'll be fine in the morning. Maybe Valon won't feel so on edge and full of hurt and betrayal as he is right now. He just...maybe they all need to sleep on it.

Valon does not unlock his door when he goes to bed.

* * *

Nope, he's wrong—it's not "all better" when he wakes up. It's _worse_.

Everything _hurts_, so much so that it rouses him from a sound sleep when he rolls over. Valon has to bite back the snarls of pain as he moves. It's only been a couple of hours since he's fallen asleep—_wonderful. _It's been a long time since he's come out the wrong end of a fight.

He pokes the nearest ice packs and frowns. They've all melted by now. He's going to have to leave the room for more ice and to take some Tylenol. That's…not something he's really looking forward to. He's reluctant to step outside of his room, but he has to. He _needs_ the Tylenol so he can sleep. Maybe his friends are asleep.

He sees the blue-black bruises forming on his cheek, the swelling beginning close his eye. Damn. That's noticeable.

So are the blue-purple bruises left by Raphael's hands on his neck.

He tilts his chin up to examine the bruises in the mirror and sighs. No t-shirt he has is going to hide this, nor the bandages on his arms. If Raphael and Alister are awake, they're going to see their handiwork, and that's probably not going to help their moods.

Valon debates, then reaches for a shirt_._ He's not one to skulk around, never has been. He's going to have to face them sooner or later. Raphael and Alister are not enemies, they are his _friends_. He's _not_ afraid of them.

Valon takes care as he pulls the shirt over his head. After grabbing the icepacks, Valon limps out of his room and down the stairs. In some spots, the pain eases as he walks. He's just gotta move and he'll be fine.

He's just outside the kitchen when he hears them. He growls under his breath—they're still awake.

They're talking in low voices, no other lights on save for ones in the kitchen. He stops, leaning against the wall to listen.

"—afraid of us."

"Can we blame him? We nearly _killed him_."

"I'm pretty sure he locked his door."

"He told me to go away."

Valon flinches. _Knew tha' was gonna come back to bite me in the ass._

He tries not to be seen as he inches closer to the doorway. The angle he has allows him to at least see Alister, who's leaning against the kitchen counter. The man looks just as bad as Valon feels, and the waist-bearing shirt lets Valon see the bruises and scrapes he had given Alister in turn. He can't see Raphael yet, but he's willing to bet the other man is at the kitchen table.

"He doesn't mean it," Alister says now, but he sounds as if he doesn't believe his own words. "He's scared."

"Maybe." A pause. "Alister, could it…what happened tonight, could it…?"

Alister shakes his head. "Traditionally, no," he says. Valon doesn't understand the question he's answering. "It can't."

"Traditionally doesn't involve the Orichalcos."

Alister's expression darkens and he does not reply. Valon understands the question now—it's one that Valon was asking earlier.

"…Alister, I…every time I close my eyes, I only saw my hands around his throat. I was strangling him. He was _crying_." Raphael's voice has a hitch in it, each word full of emotion. "I could see myself, I could feel my hands on his throat, could hear him _begging_, but I…_I couldn't stop._"

Valon flinches at how much pain is in Raphael's voice.

Alister closes his eyes. "I don't have that problem," he admits softly. His voice trembles, and his own eyes are full of guilt. "I don't remember _any_ of it, Raphael. All I can remember is a green flash, and the next thing I remember is holding a knife on Valon because he's threatening to break Dyna Dude. I had no control, no way of knowing what I was doing…not until it was too late. I've never…I've never been _that_ powerless before."

Valon clenches his fist tightly as the silence stretches on. He wants to go in there. He doesn't want to. He's conflicted, because he doesn't know what to say to them that doesn't sound empty or fake. He's going to yell at them. He's going to apologize to them. He…he doesn't know _what _he's going to do

Ah, _screw it._ He's never been one to plan ahead anyways. Spontaneity is his friend, and he'll use it even now.

He turns the corner and steps into the kitchen. "'ey, fellas."

Alister's head snaps to him, surprise briefly visible on his features before it vanishes. Raphael is sitting at the table, just as Valon's suspected. The older man looks pale and tired, and seeing Valon has him tensing in his seat.

There's an awkward pause that falls between them, and then Valon holds up the icepacks. Literal icebreaker right here in his hands, he thinks wryly. "They, uh. They aren' cold anymore."

"…Oh," is the only response he gets, and it's a weak one at that.

Valon sets the icepacks on the counter, and he accidentally brushes the corner. He hisses in pain as the bruise from an earlier punch is jarred.

He hears movement from behind him. Alister's taken a step towards him before he's checked himself, and Raphael looks about ready to leave his seat. They're both worried, but they don't want to crowd him without his permission.

Valon limps to a chair, pulling it out from the table and flopping tiredly into it. "I suck at treatin' injuries. You fellas wanna take a crack at it?" he asks, holding up his badly bandaged arm.

Neither of them move, though he knows Alister is studying the bandages and Raphael's eyes are locked on the bruises around Valon's neck. There are apologies already beginning to form, both of them struggling to find the words, and he sighs.

"Raph, Alister. It's gonna be fine," he says quietly. He's not smiling at them, but his words carry a reassurance that holds real weight. "'m not…'m not mad at you. I mean it. This…none o' this was your fault, all right? Don' apologize. You try, I'll punch ya again."

Another silence falls. Then Raphael is rising to his feet, and he comes over to Valon. He sits down next to him, tipping his head to Valon's arm. "Let me see."

Alister also comes over, watching as Raphael unwinds the bandages. Valon didn't really do anything except put bandages over on them, and the knife slashes are still sluggishly bleeding. "The first aid kit is upstairs?"

"Yeah." Valon cracks a weak smile. "Kinda hogged it."

"That's fine. We have one down here. We need to tend to those better."

"Fellas, I stole the ice packs. Sorry 'bout tha'—I punched 'ard enough to bruise."

"We noticed," Raphael said, and Valon's relieved to hear the shadow of humor in his voice. "We'll make other ice packs once we've seen to you."

Valon relaxes as his friends start tending to him. He's still so very nervous about being near them. There's so much he's not saying yet. He doesn't know what the short term or long term effects are going to be from this incident. He knows they're torn up beyond words about what they've done, he doesn't know if they can work through it. He doesn't know if they'll relapse and attack him.

But in this moment, he means what he says. It _will _be fine. Whether any of them are going to be okay at first or not, Valon won't let some nameless jerk be the reason he loses his friends.

They'll figure it out.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
